The Rachel

So I’m down in Del Boca Vista for the holidays visiting my parents, which is great. Except for one thing: I miss my fiancé something awful.

Spending two weeks in the retirement community to end all retirement communities is certainly relaxing (which I need), but it also means I’ve got lots of time on my hands. And a lot of time to miss him. So I’ve been trying to keep busy. Shopping. Cooking. Eating. Decorating. Watching movies. Going swimming. Driving around the neighborhood. Getting my hair cut.

Yep. You heard me right. Getting my hair cut. In Florida. At a retirement community.

Brave? Nah!

I’ve been thinking about getting it chopped for a while. Admittedly, it was overgrown, shaggy, shapeless, lifeless and all-around unflattering. You know, when the split ends are 5 shades lighter than the roots? Pretty. I needed an intervention. But in my defense, I attribute my hair-don’t to the fact that my hairstyle doesn’t require much maintenance. Actually, I'm lying. I don’t even have a hairstyle. I just have hair. And LOTS of it (being from Jersey and all).

My mom and I thought it would be fun to go get our hair done together. So we cheated on her normal salon -- Root 466 -- and made an appointment at a new one closer to my parents’ house. It was called Dimensions, which doesn’t really sound like a salon to me -- frankly, it sounds more like a rehab facility or a special ed program.

But we went with it and got appointments with a stylist named Josephine and the ambiguously-gendered Chris. Going in, I was 95% sure that guy or girl, I was choosing Chris. The name Josephine made me think of a chain-smoking, bourbon-drinking old broad with a hairy chin.

Well, a goateed, gap-toothed man in an embroidered black and white bowling shirt approached us. In the most friendly southern drawl I've ever heard, he said, “Well hey there, gals! My name's Chris!” I immediately turned to my mother and whispered, “I’m rolling the dice with Josephine.”

Call me a snob, I don’t care.

Next, in walks Josephine. And she didn’t have any hairs on her chin at all! She looked normal. Roughly my age. And in the first few minutes, she told me she was from Long Island. Now we’re talking! I decided to be bold and take my hair by the roots: I’m here for a cut, let’s get a CUT!

"Long layers!" I declared, and off we went.

After my scalp took a beating in the shampoo chair and she liberally applied detangler to my mangy locks, Josephine went to town. And by went to town, I mean that by the end, there was more hair on the floor than there was on my head. Seriously. She had to sweep 3 separate times. You know like when Edward Scissorhands is at work and his eyes glaze over and stuff is flying everywhere? Yeah. It was like that.

After almost an hour of snipping and moussing and drying and curling and straightening and spraying (and praying) and balming, she was done. I spun around towards the mirror, not knowing what to expect.

Now, I wasn’t particularly nervous, mind you. My philosophy -- ever since a truly horrendous perm I once got back in the 10th grade -- is that it’s just hair. It grows back.

Anyway, I took a look at the front and the back with that little hand-held mirror thingy. And I actually liked it! Huh?!? Go Josephine!! There was just this one thing. This nagging thought...

I’ve seen this look before.

Anyway, my mom came over and her hair was exactly the same as when we walked into Dimensions. Seems she got an un-cut from Chris (who incidentally was from Arkansas -- is that considered the South? -- I dunno).

We went over to pay and the bill was $64. Naturally, I assumed that was for each of us.

Nope.

It was for BOTH of us! $64 for TWO haircuts. Plus my mom had a $10 gift card from some promotion they did a YEAR AGO. And they honored it! So that’s $54 for two haircuts. Or… $27 PER HAIRCUT. My brain exploded thinking about the cheapness of it all. I don’t even think you can get ONE eyebrow waxed in NYC for $27. Unbelievable! Like a Christmas miracle.

So I literally skip out of the salon, after spending mere pocket change on a haircut I'm loving more and more each minute. I feel 5 lbs lighter. Then it dawns on me, where I’ve seen it before.

It’s The Rachel.

Freaking Josephine from Long Island gave me a 15-year-old haircut! Awesome. I thought about getting annoyed, but for $27, really, who gives a crap?

I just hope my fiancé likes it. And if not… it grows back.

A Tan with a Plan

Did you miss me? I missed you!

SO sorry I’ve been MIA -- it’s been a blur of a month.

A good chunk of July was spent visiting my parents in Del Boca Vista, FL -- aka The Villages -- home to 30,000 crazy retirees off-season, and 70,000(!?!?) in-season. It’s sorta like if Disneyland and Cocoon had a baby. Luckily during this visit I did not receive any unsolicited advice on my love life from well-intentioned, but very VERY wrinkly, strangers.

It was pure relaxation.

Anyway, the #1 mission during my week-long stint as a retiree was to get a tan. And tan I did! Even my feet are tan, which is nice because tan feet are infinitely better than pale feet (also, tan fat is better than pale fat, but I digress).

Now, of course, the challenge is to keep it going without looking like an Oompa Loompa (doopedy doo!).

I know what you’re thinking. Why don’t you just GO OUTSIDE? The answer is… I don’t know.

So, I thought about hitting up a fancy department store for some kind of expensive tanner (I hear Clarins Self Tanning Instant Gel is great). But I don’t actually want to be that much darker -- I just don’t want to get that much lighter. So I decided to give my wallet a break in these troubled economic times and hit up CVS instead. How prudent.

After much deliberation under fluorescent lights that made my new tan look slightly green, I decided to go with Jergens Natural Glow Daily Moisturizer. My thinking was it would serve a dual purpose -- 1) it offered a gradual tan, which should kick in just as my real one was starting to fade, and 2) it would provide a merciful end to the peeling/flaking/leprosy that is now happening all over my body as a direct result of said “real tan.”

As an unexpected bonus, it also claimed to be firming -- and frankly, who among us couldn’t use a little of that?

Of course, my decision was further complicated by the product being offered in a variety of shades. I was unclear which shade to choose (Do I go with my normal skin? Or my tan skin? And why don’t any of them actually LOOK like skin?). So, I wound up buying two -- Medium and Medium Tan -- to be on the safe side. Sneaky sneaky.

The verdict? PU!!

This moisturizer stinks like a sunless tanner. You know that musky rotten molasses smell that’s a dead giveaway? Yeah. So now I stink like fake tan, which isn’t even showing yet, when I actually have a REAL tan.

Awesome.

Has anyone EVER found a self tanner that didn’t stink? And, while we’re on the topic... did anyone catch the news about an Oompa Loompa getting arrested in a shopping mall in FL?

No Scents

I have perfume on the brain.

This past week at work, we were asked to test a bunch of perfumes for a story. Of course, I missed the actual meeting where the selections were made, so I got stuck with a stinker. But it started me thinking: I really can NEVER find a fragrance I can live with, let alone, love.

Generally, I try something in the store, and I think it’s good. Then I get it home, and it mixes with me and I hate it. Or it gives me a headache. Or I hate it AND it gives me a headache.

I wasn’t always so fragrantly-challenged. Years ago I went through bottles of Eternity and Banana Republic’s Classic like they were water. Which, I guess they essentially are. But you know what I mean.

I dream of the day I can find a signature scent. Something I can smell and say, “That’s me!” To this end, I have DKNY's Be Delicious and Michael Kors, two perfectly good perfumes purchased earlier this year, that are now collecting dust on a shelf in my closet. Apparently, they were not up to the task -- once they got to know me.

I really don’t know (or care) what a top note is, and I can’t tell a tuberose from a tomato, so my quest is less about the ingredients (though musk = skunk), and more about finding something clean and fresh-smelling. Well, I thought I liked clean until I smelled one perfume actually called Clean and hated it.

I should be more specific in the future, I want to smell clean, not like Mr. Clean.

Today, I spent a leisurely afternoon Christmas shopping on 5th Ave when I came upon Sephora. I was drawn like a moth to a flame. I’m really not a huge makeup person -- a little blush, mascara and lip gloss and I’m good to go -- but I AM a girl, and this is like, Makeup Mecca. So, I went in. I’m only human.

Determined to play Beat the Nose, I made a bee-line to the Smell Wall (not to be confused with the smelly wall, which was just around the corner on 49th). I was prepared to power through every single scent my colleagues liked, and come out with a winner. I grabbed a handful of white paper test strips, then sprayed and spritzed my way down the aisle. And honestly, after the first three, I’m pretty sure I lost my ability to smell entirely. It was a full-fledged olfactory shut down. A proboscis paralysis. But at that point, I had two sales girls circling me like crows, and I looked like a crazy lady with all the scent strips poking out of my hands so I HAD to plow ahead. Until one critical point, when I accidentally sprayed some rogue scent in my mouth, because the nozzle was facing the wrong way.

I can now officially confirm that perfume tastes far worse than it smells.

Anyway, maybe it was the blinding store lights, or maybe it was the brain damage I most certainly have sustained after sucking down a serving of perfume soup, but I wound up buying two bottles: Marc Jacobs’ Daisy, in part because a card next to the display told me it was their #2 best-seller (and also because I really liked the bottle), and Donna Karan’s Cashmere Mist, mainly because I didn’t want to put all my eggs in Daisy’s basket (and this one wasn’t that expensive).

I can just picture you on the edge of your seat, waiting to see which one doesn’t make me barf. You’ll have to stay tuned...

In the meantime, if all else fails, I heard Burger King came out with a fragrance that smells just like a flame-broiled Whopper. This could be effective in luring stray dogs, and drunk/stoned guys home. Once they invent one called Cheesesteak, I’m totally in.

So, do you have a signature fragrance? (And if you do, mind if I steal it??)

Picture This

I’m sure you NEVER have downtime at work. Ever. Especially as the Suits take off to sun themselves in St. Barts and leave the little people (elves?) behind to wrap up the fun-filled year that was 2008.

But on the rare occasion that you do, you really need to play around with these sites...

MISTLETOE MAKEOVER

Call me a narcissist, but I love putting my face on things. Enter Sephora’s Mistletoe Makeover. It should be called Hoochie Holiday. Upload your photo into 4 (kinda freaky) looks -- Santa’s Little Temptress, Merry Berry, Smokey Sugar Plum, and O Tannen Babe -- then let the merriment begin. If you like your makeup good and cake-y, you can even buy the look! And then wear it. In the dark.

PHO-HO-HOTO BOOTH

Not nearly as animated, but almost more fun is the Pho-ho-hoto Booth from Union Studio. I don’t even know what to make of this. It’s like Glamour Shots for the criminally insane. Take a trip back to 1980 and get your stockings stuffed with bedazzled sweaters and permed mullets. I liked this one because if you knew me in the 8th grade, you'd know I occasionally rocked the side ponytail. And if you’ve yet to get your holiday cards out, this may be your best bet. Your friends will think you are cheap and twisted as a candy cane, but funny.

ELF YOURSELF

Of course, this list wouldn’t be complete without OfficeMax’s famous Elf Yourself that caused a flurry last year. It's back and better than ever. Faster than you can say “Midgets Scare Me,” your inner elf takes center-stage in a Disco, Charleston, Classic, or Country music video and dances better than you do. Honestly, seeing my giant head bounce around really never gets old.

I could do this ALL day (but I won’t, Pam, I promise!).

Anybody have other sites I should be checking out during totally non-working hours??

Sally Hansen Has Changed My Life

I'm not exactly sure how I got to be 35 and never discovered old Sally.

With my irrational dislike of professional manicures intact, over the years I have become quite adept at painting my own nails (even using my left hand). What I've been a spectacular failure at, however, is getting the polish to actually STAY on my fingernails for more than 24 hours.

Maybe I don't eat enough calcium. Maybe I'm too rough. Maybe my nails like to breathe. I don't know, but the minute my fingers are dry (and occasionally several moments before), my nails chip, split, crack, get sheet marks, and otherwise look totally banged up.

This has never stopped me from fighting the good fight. I've spent countless hundreds of dollars on polish over the years. It only takes a peek inside my medicine cabinet to find roughly 30 shades from Essie, OPI, Lancome, Chanel, and the like. No matter what, Chip City.

So, I was running errands on Friday nite after work, to get ready for a wedding in Chicago on Saturday. I stopped into CVS to pick up a few things, including top coat. Thinking back, I'm not even sure what drew me to Sally, but five -- count them, FIVE -- days later, my chip-free fingernails are saying, "What took you so long?!?"

Here's the formula:

1 base coat of Sally Hansen Hard as Wraps (in Clear Gloss)

+ 2 coats of polish (I used OPI's Chick Flick Cherry)

+ 1 coat of Sally Hansen Diamond Strength No Chip Top Coat (in Flawless)

= Magic

Have you got any beauty secrets to share?